Right now as meteors are sailing unseen
in bright big city sky, with my little guitar in hand
I give them serenade, thinking about proportions
in the movements of celestial bodies,
tones of energy made manifest through my fingers
– numbers, angles, shapes –
the ocean of harmony, and dreams.  
I am thinking of old Pythagoras,
Max Heindel of the Rosy Cross,
the myths and the music which have sustained us
through the centuries.
And I am thinking of a young girl
who lost her heart across the sea,
her beautiful voice, her dying lover, her pain.
I am thinking  of the toll of illness,
the existential sadness and terror of loss,
and I am thinking about my own loneliness
in this brief stretch of time.  

Meanwhile, the Perseids are sailing by,
unseen through the saturation of light
in the teeming bustle of the world,
except for oh! a singular chalk mark
across the street-lit sky.  

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